


easier than air with air (if spirits embrace)

by asideofourown, OuidaMForeman



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Aziraphale's True Form (Good Omens), Bodyswap, Crowley's True Form (Good Omens), Domestic Fluff, Don't copy to another site, M/M, Major Character Injury, Missing Scene, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Self-Acceptance, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:13:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25574869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asideofourown/pseuds/asideofourown, https://archiveofourown.org/users/OuidaMForeman/pseuds/OuidaMForeman
Summary: Crawley felt a tingle against his palms, and realized with a jolt of dread that Aziraphale was trying to smite him, to overload his damned soul with so much blessing that he’d be drained of his power.  There was only one thing he could think of to do, only one option— because he couldn’t transform and get away, he wouldn’t be quick enough, and Aziraphale’s blessing had already transitioned from tingling topressure—Crawley pushed back, trying to curse and tempt anddamn—pushing against Aziraphale, meeting Heavenly power with his own Hellish magic— fighting back against the holiness with his unconsecrated, corruptingsuper evilpower—And then he was staring at his own face, his snakish eyes confused, red hair long and tangled and windswept.  “What—?” Crawley said, and his voice wasn’t his own, it wasAziraphale’s—[Five times Aziraphale and Crowley swap bodies, and one time they don't]
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 25
Kudos: 305
Collections: Good Omens Mini Bang





	easier than air with air (if spirits embrace)

**Author's Note:**

> Here's my fic for the [DIWS Minibang!](https://do-it-with-style-events.tumblr.com/) This ended up... a bit longer than I anticipated, but here we are.
> 
> I had the honor and privilege of working with the incredibly talented [Ouida](https://ouidasart.tumblr.com/), whose amazing art can be found [here](https://ouidasart.tumblr.com/post/624923938604089344/my-illustrations-for-easier-than-air-with-air-if), as well as within the text of this fic.
> 
> The title of this fic is from _Paradise Lost_ by John Milton, specifically......... the explanation of angel sex scene. This fic doesn't _exactly_ go in that direction (I believe it's fitting to rate it T, after all), but the last scene (and second illustration) do get pretty metaphysical re: true forms, wings and eyes and scales and all that, so if that's going to be a bother maybe give this one a pass.
> 
> Otherwise, enjoy!

****

**3623 BCE**

Crawley stood with his arms crossed, looking out over the embers of the burning village in front of him. He might have been put off by the smell, if Hell didn’t smell a thousand times worse. 

“Oh!” someone gasped behind him, and Crawley whirled around to find that the angel from Eden (Aziraphale, wasn’t it? He who had given his sword to the humans. And look how well _that_ had gone) had appeared behind him. 

“Hello, again,” Crawley drawled, turning his attention back to the village in front of him. “Didn’t expect to see you again so soon.”

“This— this—” Aziraphale said, sounding horrified. “What _happened?”_

Crawley’s lip curled. “It’s in their nature, isn’t it?” he said. “This sort of thing?” 

Aziraphale gasped again, and this time sounded even more upset. “You!” he exclaimed, and there was enough emotion (far more than Crawley had come to expect, from an angel) in his voice that Crawley turned again. 

Aziraphale was glaring at him with wide, furious eyes. “I should have known!” he spat. “First you tempted humanity into sin, and now you’re just killing them! And to think I sheltered you with my wing!”

“I don’t think I ever thanked you for that,” Crawley said, and then the rest of Aziraphale’s words registered. “Hey, wait, no, I didn’t do any of this! It was all the humans, they’ve discovered attacking each other!”

“It most certainly _looks_ like Hellish influence, though,” Aziraphale said grimly. “I shouldn’t be surprised to find a _demon_ on the scene of something terrible!” He stepped forward, and began to shine with ethereal light.

“Wait, wait,” Crawley said with a nervous laugh, raising his hands and taking a step back. “No need to get smitey, I’ve seen more than enough of that to last my immortal lifetime.”

Aziraphale scowled at him, and the expression seemed out of place on the face that Crawley had seen smile and laugh on the wall of Eden. “I received quite the dressing down, you know, after the Fall of Man,” he said quietly, stepping forward to match Crawley’s step back. “Heaven told me I ought to have smote you then. Now I suppose I should— should fix that mistake. To make sure you can’t do anything else _evil._ ”

Crawley scowled. “I should have known,” he said bitterly. “I thought we had a _moment,_ in Eden. But you’re just like the other angels, aren’t you? I told you, I had nothing to do with this, but you’re so eager to jump to conclusions—” His fists clenched. “Right, of course. You angels don’t break ranks anymore, do you?”

Aziraphale’s eyes flashed, his halo flaring onto the visible plane, and lunged forward almost faster than Crawley could register, fists raised.

Crawley yelped, stumbling backwards. He could hold his own in a skirmish with most demons, but he definitely couldn’t fight off an angel who had been issued a flaming sword and trusted to guard one of the gates of Eden. His best hope of _not-getting-smote_ was probably to turn into a snake and slither far away as fast as he could.

One of Aziraphale’s fists swung at him, and Crawley just managed to catch it in his palm. Aziraphale made a wordless sound of frustration, and swung his other fist. Crawley caught it, and found himself face to face with an angel, practically _nose to nose._ If he and Aziraphale were friends, if the angel wasn’t trying to destroy him, it might have been a little more enjoyable to be so close.

Crawley felt a tingle against his palms, and realized with a jolt of dread that Aziraphale was trying to smite him, to overload his damned soul with so much blessing that he’d be drained of his power. There was only one thing he could think of to do, only one option— because he couldn’t transform and get away, he wouldn’t be quick enough, and Aziraphale’s blessing had already transitioned from tingling to _pressure—_

Crawley pushed back, trying to curse and tempt and _damn—_ pushing against Aziraphale, meeting Heavenly power with his own Hellish magic— fighting back against the holiness with his unconsecrated, corrupting _super_ _evil_ power—

And then he was staring at his own face, his snakish eyes confused, red hair long and tangled and windswept. “What—?” Crawley said, and his voice wasn’t his own, it was _Aziraphale’s—_

He— Aziraphale in his corporation? Or someone else?— stumbled backwards, eyes wide. “What did you do?” whatever was in Crawley’s corporation exclaimed, sounding more scared and confused than angry.

Crawley looked down at his hands (fingers shorter and stubbier than his own, gold ring on one pinky), his body (more round, muscled, and a properly-constructed un-snake-like spine), his robes (long and white and flowing, not black and a little worn from travel). “What the Heaven,” he said flatly, and _yep_ that was Aziraphale’s voice again.

“What did you do?” Aziraphale (?) in Crawley’s body said again, staring down at his own hands, at the grime Crawley knew was under his fingernails and in the lines of his palms.

“I… don’t know,” Crawley said, and then added hesitantly, “That… that is you, Aziraphale?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale replied, his (Crawley’s? Heaven bless it, this was damn _confusing_ ) brow furrowing. “Is that you, Crawley?”

“Yeahhh,” Crawley replied slowly, mostly baffled rather than scared. “Yeah, I’m Crawley. Except. I’m in your corporation?” He closed his eyes, taking stock of himself. Aziraphale’s corporation felt just slightly off, like Crawley’s soul didn’t quite fit in the way it was meant to, but he could tell without even trying that his power was his own, that he hadn’t Risen or otherwise become undamned.

“I can’t Fall,” Aziraphale whispered, and when Crawley opened his eyes Aziraphale’s (his?) hands were trembling violently. “I _can’t_ Fall.”

“You haven’t,” Crawley said quickly. This whole thing was weird enough on its own, he didn’t need a panicked angel to run off with his body. “I think we’ve just switched, somehow? We just need to switch back.”

“How?” Aziraphale said, his eyes impossibly wide, entirely yellow. 

“Well, I was trying to damn you, and you were trying to bless me,” Crawley said. “And I think instead of cancelling out, we must have, uh, unsettled ourselves from our corporations? So let’s just do it again, and we should switch back.”

Aziraphale squinted suspiciously at him, but he slowly shuffled forward again. “Alright,” he said, extending one hand. “But know, demon, that you oughtn’t try anything. I will— will smite you. Somehow. If you try anything.”

Crawley did his utmost not to smirk, and wasn’t sure if it worked on Aziraphale’s face. “Got it.” He took Aziraphale’s hand, concentrating. “Right. So. Let’s switch back.”

It took a good hour of pushing and concentrating and blessing and damning before the tingling of cancelled out miracles spread through Crawley’s borrowed corporation, and he found himself in his own body again. They both immediately let go, stepping back so they didn’t manage to swap _again._

“Well,” Aziraphale said, staring down at his own hands and looking rather pleased with himself.

“I’m gonna go,” Crawley said, before Aziraphale remembered that he had been in the middle of a good smiting when they had swapped. “And for the record?” He swept a hand out at the embers of the village, and then between them. “ _None_ of this was me.”

“Right,” Aziraphale said distractedly. 

“Have fun being all good and holy and whatever, then,” Crawley said, taking another few big steps back. “And let’s not do this again, yeah?”

“I quite agree,” Aziraphale said, looking up. “Mind how you go.”

“Riiight,” Crawley said, and then without further ado turned into a snake and slithered off, already planning to get _uproariously_ drunk and forget any of this had ever happened.

* * *

**108 BCE**

Aziraphale was in something of a _mood_ when he spotted the back of a familiar head up at the bar of the tavern he’d just entered. He brightened, and took a moment to collect himself before bustling over. “Crawley!” he said, hoping he didn’t sound as happy as he felt.

Crawley turned in his chair, eyebrows raised. “Aziraphale?” he said, and didn’t sound as surprised as Aziraphale might have expected. That wasn’t too out of character, come to think— Crawley had always been better at sneaking up on Aziraphale than the other way around.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Aziraphale said, smiling and sitting down next to his old friend. It had been some fifty years since their paths had last crossed, and to be honest he hadn’t even known Crawley was in the area. 

“I just got in to the city,” Crawley replied, taking a sip of whatever (honestly foul-smelling) alcohol he was drinking. 

“What brings you?” Aziraphale asked politely, and then winced. Of course, Crawley was most likely here for work. Which was in direct conflict with Aziraphale’s work. Which meant that it didn’t exactly make for great small talk, the fact that their jobs and sides and existences were meant to be directly antithetical to each other.

“Temptation,” Crawley grunted, taking another swig and grimacing. “I’m meant to tempt the governor into changing the city budget with more ‘allowances for sin.’ Whatever the Heaven _that_ means, Dagon was _very_ vague.”

“Oh, the governor?” Aziraphale said in surprise. “But I—”

“What?” Crawley said, squinting suspiciously. He leaned forward, the wisps of hair free from his ponytail hanging over his eyes, and then grinned. “You know him, don’t you!”

Aziraphale sighed. “I couldn’t possibly say anything,” he started, but Crawley waved a hand, cutting him off.

“C’mon, Aziraphale, we’ve known each other for almost four thousand years, and we’ve been friendly for three thousand of those,” he said. “I _can_ read you. Can you introduce me?”

“I don’t think that would be a good idea,” Aziraphale said, and decided to give up on denying that he knew the target of Crawley’s assigned temptation. “I’ve been very subtly trying to lead him onto a path of good and righteous action, and introducing you might upset that—”

“Might upset that?” Crawley said, sounding insulted. He slammed down the rest of his drink and set the cup on the bar’s counter, gesturing for another. “You have so little faith in me, angel? I could _definitely_ mess things up. But I won’t. C’mon.”

“I couldn’t possibly,” Aziraphale said firmly, frowning. “We’re on opposite sides, Crawley, you know that—”

“But which is better,” Crawley said in a low voice, leaning in a little. His eyes were bright, his cheeks a little flushed with drink, and Aziraphale had to go to _great_ effort not to blush himself. 

“Which is better,” Crawley repeated, indicating that he was _maybe_ a little drunker than he looked. “Keeping a minor governor unsullied by an ultimately mostly useless temptation that won’t _actually_ damn the humans in any real way, or having Hell’s representative on Earth owe you a favor?”

 _That_ was an interesting idea. Aziraphale knew how to recognize a temptation, knew that despite appearances and apparent commitment Crawley _was_ actually quite good at his job if he wanted to be, but that didn’t make the idea of a demon owing him a favor any less interesting. He could maybe even justify it to Heaven, being able to call in a favor to Hell.

But still. “I don’t think that would work, even if I were so inclined,” Aziraphale said in a low voice. “I’ve been here for two years, the governor and his family know me well. But unless you have several months to integrate yourself into the society here, I doubt you’ll be able to do much in the way of temptation.”

Crawley rubbed thoughtfully at his chin, and then raised a hand in silent thanks as his next drink was delivered to him. He took a sip after offering it to Aziraphale (Aziraphale politely declined, and _did not_ wrinkle his nose at the quality of alcohol Crawley chose to consume— without even miracling it better!) and then suddenly snapped his fingers, a gesture more of realization than an expression of power. 

“I know!” he exclaimed, setting his glass down so hard some of his drink sloshed onto the counter. “Switch bodies with me!”

“ _Excuse_ me?” Aziraphale spluttered, instinctively leaning back even though he hadn’t been afraid or wary of Crawley in some three thousand years. 

“You said the governor knows you,” Crawley said with a nod. “So, let me take your corporation for a spin for, say, an hour? I’ll do my temptation, I promise I won’t wreck your reputation, and then you’re owed a huge favor from Hell’s favorite Serpent of Eden.”

“You’re Hell’s only Serpent of Eden,” Aziraphale said flatly, which wasn’t as close to a _no_ as he had intended. “Why are you so desperate to get this done quickly, anyway?”

Crawley wriggled a little nervously in his chair, and then made a face. “I’ve kind of got a performance review in two days?” he said. “And I haven’t met my yearly quota. So. This one’s a little more make or break than it should be, given the caliber of the assignment. Since I’ll be in kind of deep shit if I don’t get it done before the review.”

“And Hell doesn’t know you’re not at quota,” Aziraphale sighed, kneading his temples to ward off his coming, unavoidable headache. 

“Right,” Crawley confirmed. 

“And what, hypothetically, happens if your _performance review_ goes badly?” Aziraphale asked. Because he _did_ know the panic of an upcoming performance review with not _quite_ enough miracles and blessings on record to give him a chance of avoiding a patronizing scolding.

Crawley hummed thoughtfully, swirling his drink around in his glass with obviously forced nonchalance. “Best case, I’m shackled to a desk and they replace me up here with someone like Hastur,” he said. “Worst case, a few centuries in the pit? If Beelzebub’s in a particularly bad mood?”

“Fine,” Aziraphale said, before he’d even really consciously made a decision. The hope and gratefulness in Crawley’s eyes cemented it, though.

“Really?” the demon said. 

“You have three hours,” Aziraphale said, making his expression as stern as possible. “And _don’t_ ruin my reputation. And I expect you to keep your oath to pay me back somehow.”

“Of course,” Crawley said fervently, holding out a hand. “I owe you _so much.”_

Aziraphale exhaled, already anticipating the many and varied ways this could go horribly wrong, and then said, “No one’s looking?”

Crawley cocked his head, and then confirmed, “No one’s looking.”

Aziraphale took Crawley’s hand and _pushed,_ like he was trying to bless or gently smite. At the same time he felt a pulse of Hellishness as Crawley did his half, and the world almost seemed to tilt on its axis before his whole Self tingled and he was looking at his own corporation blinking rapidly.

“Thank you,” Crawley-in-Aziraphale’s-corporation said quietly. “Thank you, angel.”

“You’re lucky I showed up,” Aziraphale said just as softly, and he had to concentrate to make sure his words didn’t slur.

“I am,” Crawley said, and then got up. “Three hours. I’ll be back in three hours.”

“Best of luck, I suppose,” Aziraphale said gloomily, already regretting his decision a little bit. Even though he trusted Crawley, had known and liked (loved, maybe, a little, but it was in his nature as an angel to love without restriction) him for long enough to understand that at his core he was good, for a demon— but that didn’t mean Aziraphale was willing to underestimate Crawley’s capacity to put obstacles and problems in his own path.

Crawley grinned nervously at him, an expression that was worryingly fitting for Aziraphale’s face, and then turned on his heel and left with a bit too much snake in his strut.

Aziraphale sighed deeply, and turned to Crawley’s horrible alcohol, taking a long sip and _most certainly_ not thinking about the aforementioned myriad of ways things could go wrong. 

It was going to be a long three hours.

* * *

**1440 CE**

Crowley found Aziraphale exactly where he’d expected to find him— reading a book that he’d probably borrowed from the library of the nearby monastery on the steps of the village church. Aziraphale had always gotten along with monks, especially when it gave him access to their books. 

Crowley came to a stop far enough away that the ground wouldn’t burn his feet through his annoyingly thin-soled shoes, and called out, “Morning, Aziraphale.”

“Oh!” Aziraphale said, looking up in surprise as though _he_ hadn’t been the one to send _Crowley_ a message. “Good morning, Crowley.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow, nudging his glasses back up the bridge of his nose to ensure that his eyes were properly covered. The fifteenth century, so far, wasn’t _quite_ as abominable as the fourteenth had been, but that didn’t mean he was exactly having a great time. “How’ve you been?” he asked, sensing that Aziraphale might need a little small talk to work him up to saying whatever he’d called Crowley for.

“Oh, you know,” Aziraphale said, flapping one hand and closing his book as he stood. “It _is_ lovely to see you, Crowley, but I’m afraid I have a bit of an ulterior motive. It’s about, well. Our.” He lowered his voice, eyes darting around to make sure they were alone. “Our _Arrangement_.”

Crowley tried not to look too surprised. It usually took a lot more buildup for Aziraphale to bring up the Arrangement. Whatever he wanted must be urgent.

“You have something you want to flip for?” Crowley asked, already patting his pockets for a coin to flip. 

“Well. Actually,” Aziraphale said, stepping off the church grounds to join Crowley on the street. “I had hoped to call in a favor you owe me.”

Crowley paused in his search for a coin. “Oh?” he said, intrigued. 

“Do you recall, some fifteen hundred years ago, we swapped corporations so you could do an assignment?” Aziraphale said, his voice still low and confidential. 

“I do,” Crowley said slowly. He was starting to get an inkling of where this was going. 

“I wondered if we might be able to do it again,” Aziraphale said. “After all, last time didn’t end in disaster!”

“You… have an assignment you want to do in my corporation?” Crowley said a little incredulously.

“Well,” Aziraphale said, stretching the word out, and what he wanted struck Crowley all at once.

“You have an assignment you want _me_ to do in your corporation!” Crowley guessed, and he was correct if the way Aziraphale winced was any indication. 

“It’s very simple!” Aziraphale said quickly. “Most certainly not the most complex or difficult blessing you’d have done in the name of the Arrangement! It’s only, I’d already made _plans,_ but this blessing needs to be done today and I do believe Heaven might be watching once I get started—”

“What plans?” Crowley said with a sigh, even though he already knew he was going to say yes. Even if he hadn’t owed Aziraphale for that favor fifteen hundred years before, even if Aziraphale was endlessly indebted to _him,_ he wouldn’t just tell his best friend (love) no.

“Well, there’s this man, right here in Germany,” Aziraphale started. “He’s invented a way to mass produce books, and he promised me a demonstration, and it would be _so_ rude for me to back out, not to mention that we’ve only talked by letter so I wouldn't be able to get word quickly enough, and Gabriel only sent me this assignment at a _ridiculous_ hour last night—”

“Alright,” Crowley said, holding out a hand. “Yeah, alright, let’s swap.”

Aziraphale looked surprised. “Really?”

“Yeah, sure,” Crowley said casually. He figured saying _there’s very little in the world I wouldn’t do for you_ would probably come on a _bit_ too strong for the moment. “I don’t have anything on this afternoon.”

“It really is a very simple assignment,” Aziraphale said. “And I don’t know for sure that Heaven will even observe, I just thought that Gabriel implied it a bit in his note, but really they don’t follow through on threats to spot-check me all that often—”

“I’ve got it, Aziraphale,” Crowley said with a grin. “We’ll switch, I’ll do your blessing, and you have fun doing your book thing. It’s fine.” He held out a hand, eyebrows raised. “So?”

“Thank you,” Aziraphale breathed, reaching out and taking his hand. “I do _so_ appreciate it, Crowley.”

“No problem,” Crowley said, mouth dry. “No worries at all. Don’t even mention it.” To stop himself from embarrassing himself further (which would… probably happen if he kept babbling), he closed his eyes and concentrated hard. 

Maybe it was because he was concentrating harder than normal, or maybe it was because swapping corporations seemed to get easier each time they did it, but as he and Aziraphale metaphysically loosened themselves from their earthly forms, Crowley felt more aware of his Self than he normally was. He felt his awareness spread, shifting, and then he was in Aziraphale’s corporation, which was oddly and not unpleasantly familiar by this point.

“Well, that’s that,” Aziraphale said, prim tone a bit at odds with the usual cadence of Crowley’s voice. “Thank you again, Crowley. I sincerely appreciate it.”

Crowley reluctantly let go of Aziraphale’s hand, and tried for the sort of rakish grin that didn’t exactly fit on Aziraphale’s kind face. “Have a fun time with your _books,”_ he teased. “I’ll go bless some people, put on a good show for you.”

Aziraphale nodded down at the book still in his hands. “My instructions are tucked in the back cover,” he said. “I’ll… I’ll see you tonight? Perhaps we could have dinner?”

“Yep,” Crowley said cheerfully, and did _not_ sound too enthusiastic or excited for that prospect. “I’ll see you later, angel.”

Aziraphale smiled a little shyly. “Yes. Best of luck, my dear.” With that he lifted one hand in a small wave and set off down the street.

Crowley stared after him, his borrowed heart pounding hard behind his ribs. _My dear._ That was new. And _definitely_ not unwelcome. “Yes!” Crowley hissed to himself, pumping his fist. Maybe he’d even get Aziraphale to call him ‘dear’ again later— something to look forward to, as long as he didn’t get caught out as a faker by an archangel.

Should be a piece of cake.

* * *

**1643 CE**

Aziraphale was in the middle of a very good book when he was wrested from his reverie by a furious pounding on his door. “Goodness,” Aziraphale exclaimed to himself, reluctantly setting his book down. 

It was quite late, but he didn’t have much of an excuse to ignore whoever was making such a ruckus. He was posing as a priest, after all (as much as an angel could _pose_ , perhaps _acting_ was a better word for it), and he would be failing his duties if he ignored someone in need of… priestly assistance. Besides, Aziraphale mused to himself as he grabbed a robe and snapped his normal clothes to something more appropriate to sleep in, he knew for a fact that Crowley was vaguely in the area. Maybe _he_ was the one pounding on the door, only he usually just let himself in when he wanted to make a nuisance of himself. 

Aziraphale sighed slightly and shook his head, casting one last longing look over his shoulder towards his book before picking up a candle and heading to open the door.

“Father Aziraphale, thank goodness!” 

Aziraphale blinked a little sleepily, gazing at the two villagers standing in his doorway. He hadn’t been _actually_ sleeping, to be fair, but yanking himself from deep concentration probably felt much like getting suddenly woken from sleep, he suspected. Besides, best play the part— most humans didn’t regularly stay up all night reading for weeks on end. “How can I help you, gentlemen?” he had the presence of mind to ask, looking between the two men. It was the middle of the night but they were both fully dressed, and both out of breath as though they had run from somewhere.

“Father Aziraphale,” the second man said, his eyes wide and _frightened._ “Please come quickly, we’re in need of your help.”

“Of course,” Aziraphale said, puzzled. “Er, come in, I’ll quickly change and you can tell me what’s wrong.”

“We need you for an exorcism,” the first man said. Neither of them moved to come inside, and both shuffled as though anxious to go back where they had come from.

Aziraphale paused. “An… exorcism?” he said. 

“We left John with the possessed bastard,” the man said. “Father Aziraphale—”

“Just a moment,” Aziraphale said sternly. “I need to get some things, and then I’ll be right back. Wait here.”

“Right,” the man said. 

Aziraphale closed the door and hurried through his small house, absently miracling his nightclothes away as he went. An exorcism—! He hadn’t needed to do one for quite some time, not since a minor demon had come up from Hell to cause trouble in the 1300s when Crowley had been—

Oh. 

Oh, _no_.

Aziraphale froze, halfway through the process of searching through his cupboards for a flask of holy water. He knew Crowley was in the area, he had been for a few weeks (they had gotten dinner, just a few days before!), and now villagers wanted someone exorcised—

Crowley’s ability and inclination to pose as human was inconsistent, especially when he got annoyed, bored, or drunk. And the damp, cold, puritanical climate of the area would probably make him more inclined to be all three…

Aziraphale exhaled, found his holy water, and paused for just a moment more to think. He was _sure_ it wasn’t Crowley, Crowley was far too intelligent to get himself caught up in anything. Surely, the exorcism he was being asked to perform would be routine, some minor demon that would take their leave once Aziraphale sprinkled a little holy water in their vicinity. Perhaps there wouldn’t be a demon at all, just some humans with overactive imaginations.

A tentative tap at his door pulled Aziraphale from his thoughts, and he hurried back to join the villagers before they got antsy and did anything rash. “Alright,” he said briskly, opening the door and stepping outside. “Where to?”

“The church,” one of the men answered. The other took off running, apparently tired of waiting for Aziraphale and eager to get back to the friend they had left with this devil.

Aziraphale blinked in surprise. “Very well,” was all he said, and set off at a quick pace down the street.

The church was dim when they stepped inside, but after letting his eyes adjust Aziraphale followed the villagers down a set of stairs to the basement. 

It was brighter, down there, if only just— candles had been lit and placed around the room, but they weren’t quite enough to stave off every shadow. The two villagers who had come to fetch Aziraphale took up positions next to a third, who was standing very still and facing away from the door, brandishing a crucifix. In the center of the room there was a figure slumped over in a chair surrounded by what looked like a circle of salt, their red hair long and hanging over their face, their arms bent at an awkward angle and presumably tied behind them.

Aziraphale’s heart sank. Even without seeing his face, even without hearing his voice, Crowley was more than easy to recognize.

“Father Aziraphale,” the third man said, handing the crucifix in his hand off to one of his friends and turning to face the door. “Thank goodness.”

Aziraphale managed to tear his attention away from Crowley— whose head had seemed to lift just slightly at Aziraphale’s name— and forced a smile in the direction of the human. “What seems to be the matter?” he asked, trying to keep his voice level and unshaking.

“This man is possessed by a demon,” the man (his name was John, right? Something like John— Aziraphale was disoriented, off his guard, and not thinking clearly) said.

“How do you know?” Aziraphale asked before he could stop himself. 

“His eyes,” John said with a shudder. “Foul and inhuman, like a cat’s. And his teeth— beastly, distorted. The demon is taking a toll on his body, Father, and we fear too that it will corrupt his soul beyond saving. Please exorcise him. You can do that, can you not?”

“Of course,” Aziraphale said faintly. He stepped forward, and the men let him pass. He paused just on the edge of the circle of salt, gazing at Crowley. His friend looked… well, to put it mildly, rather awful. His hair was shorter than it had been when they had seen Hamlet together, but still long enough to tangle and cover his face, and his clothing was dirty and torn. “My word,” Aziraphale whispered, and then said in a louder voice, “Cro— my good fellow, can you hear me?”

“He’s possessed, Father, you’re speaking to a devil,” one of the men said from behind him.

Aziraphale took a deep breath. “His soul may still be in there,” he said tentatively, hoping that was an explanation they would accept. Really, he just needed to know whether or not Crowley was insensible, whether or not he needed to be saved or if Aziraphale showing up was just a distraction.

Crowley lifted his head just slightly, making eye contact with Aziraphale. His dark glasses were gone, and there was a smear of drying blood on his chin and a bruise on his cheek. His eyes were entirely yellow, iris covering the sclera, and his pupils were wide and frightened. 

“Dear me,” Aziraphale murmured, and then stepped over the circle of salt without a thought, surreptitiously brushing it enough to break it as he went.

“Father Aziraphale!” one of the villagers cried, and Aziraphale waved a hand without sparing them a glance. He crouched in front of Crowley, looking up at him worriedly. Crowley blinked, and his serpentine tongue flickered out to lick his dry, cracked lips.

“You’ve gotten yourself into quite the pickle, haven’t you,” Aziraphale whispered.

“Have I?” Crowley replied, and his words were a bit slurred and run together. “Hadn’t noticed.” He looked a little delirious, or at least tired and worn and low on power. Aziraphale suspected the church they were in was sapping his magic, at the very least, perhaps even causing him pain. Or the humans had done something right in containing him, whether it was the salt or the religious iconography or the threat of holy water. Perhaps all three.

Aziraphale’s mind raced. The humans were expecting him to exorcise Crowley, to use the holy water he had brought to cleanse the man in front of him of evil. But if he did that, Crowley would die… would _melt._ And, hereditary enemy or not, Aziraphale would _not_ let that happen.

“Crowley,” he said in the barest whisper. “Swap bodies with me.”

“Wuh?” Crowley mumbled, his chin dropping to rest against his chest.

“Father Aziraphale?” one of the humans said. 

“Come, now, we don’t have time!” Aziraphale hissed. “Switch with me!” 

He stood, resting his hand gently on the crown of Crowley’s head as though he was going to say a prayer. For a moment nothing happened, and then the familiar tingling sensation of his Self flowing out of his corporation and into Crowley’s took hold. The world seemed to blur for a moment and then Aziraphale was blinking hard, staring up at himself through matted red hair.

Aziraphale in Crowley’s corporation took a moment to feel out how he was. His arms were tied behind him, shoulders wrenched uncomfortably back, wrists chafed and scabbed. His head spun, thoughts disordered, and he could feel the burns caused by the consecrated ground even through Crowley’s boots, though the floor didn’t burn now that an angelic soul was in the corporation. And, most importantly, the ambient holiness of the place had sapped Crowley’s power, weakening the flame of hellish magic that usually burned in his chest to little more than an ember. 

Aziraphale watched through squinted serpentine eyes as Crowley stepped back, a little unsteady in an angelic corporation. “Er, right,” Crowley said in Aziraphale’s voice, and then straightened his spine a little and said in an almost insultingly sanctimonious way, “I can indeed cleanse this poor soul of his evil afflictions, but it will take some doing.”

“Whatever you need, Father Aziraphale,” John said fervently, and now that _he_ was the one tied to the chair Aziraphale was more than a bit disconcerted by the eager glint in the villager’s eyes. 

Crowley took another step back and Aziraphale was glad he had had the foresight to break the salt circle. Usually, something like that would have been no worry at all for the Serpent of Eden, but Crowley was considerably weaker after being kept in the church for (if the way Aziraphale’s head was pounding was any indication) several hours. 

Crowley retreated to where Aziraphale had left the holy water, very carefully picking it up and holding it as far away from his body as he naturally could. Aziraphale couldn't help but watch him worriedly. They had switched corporations, yes, but Crowley was still a demon. There was no way to know if holy water could hurt him, even within the body of an angel. “Ah,” Crowley said, stretching the word out. “Um, you.” He gestured to one of the villagers, who stiffened. Crowley handed him the holy water and said quickly, “I mistakenly brought with me unsuitable water. Dump that in the church’s back garden and then get me some water from the well, I can bless that.” 

The villager nodded sharply and ran off, holy water clutched in both hands. Crowley cleared his throat, glancing at Aziraphale. Aziraphale lifted his chin, grimacing at the metallic taste in Crowley’s mouth, and nodded just slightly. He trusted Crowley to get them out of this. If he _didn’t_ trust Crowley, they wouldn’t be in the positions they were in. 

“Do you speak any Latin?” Crowley asked the other two villagers, and both shook their heads. 

“Why do you ask, Father?” John said, and Aziraphale hoped that was curiosity rather than suspicion on his face. 

Crowley nodded solemnly, pursing his lips and widening his eyes in the way Aziraphale did when he fudged his reports to Heaven. “I needed to know whether I ought to do the exorcism rites on my own, or whether I would have help.” He nodded sharply. “Since I will be on my own, I’ll get started now.” 

Crowley strode over to Aziraphale again, pausing in front of his chair. He pressed his hands together and looked up to the heavens, eyes fluttering closed, expression as pure and pious as angelically possible… and then began to recite dirty limericks in Latin. 

Aziraphale barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes. After a moment, Crowley hissed, “Play along!” Obligingly, Aziraphale began to flail, hoping his expression looked pained enough to convince the villagers he was being exorcised. 

Footsteps pounded on the stairs, and a moment later the third villager sloshed his way into the room with a bucket full of water. Crowley paused in his Latin and reached for the bucket. He waved a hand over it, solemnly reciting some Latin-sounding gibberish, and then made eye contact with Aziraphale. Aziraphale nodded just slightly. They could both tell the water wasn’t holy, wasn’t hellish, wasn’t _anything._

“Miracle my eyes!” Crowley hissed, and then dumped the bucket of water over Aziraphale’s head, dousing him. At the same time, Aziraphale squeezed his eyes shut and mustered his power, miracling Crowley’s eyes from golden and serpent-like to a very human brown.

Aziraphale opened his eyes, taking a moment to adjust to _not_ seeing the world through slitted pupils, and then made eye contact with each villager before exclaiming dramatically, “Thank the Almighty, my soul is saved!”

Crowley arched an eyebrow just slightly, a look _much_ cattier than Aziraphale would ever have on his own face. All he said, though, was, “How are you feeling, sir?”

“The, er, affliction of the devil is gone from me?” Aziraphale said, wincing slightly at the uptick at the end of his sentence. “That is, I am purified! Sanctified! Absolutely splendid!”

“How can we be sure he’s truly free of demonic influence, Father Aziraphale?” John asked.

Crowley blinked, and then said quickly, “Ah, he could, uh, say a prayer? Demons can’t do that. Nope.” He gestured, and Aziraphale obligingly rattled off a suitable prayer before smiling beatifically at the villagers.

“See?” Crowley said, tentatively walking around Aziraphale and reaching down to untie him. “All fixed.”

“Thank you, Father Aziraphale,” Aziraphale said, looking up at Crowley and widening his eyes. Crowley’s lips twitched in a way Aziraphale could tell was amusement and exasperation in equal measure, and offered him a hand. Aziraphale slowly got to his feet, taking stock of the state of Crowley’s corporation. He was a bit light-headed, and his feet were definitely a little burnt— although likely not nearly as painful as it would have been for Crowley in his own body, the consecration still having an effect.

“He can stay the night at my residence,” Crowley said, firmly gripping Aziraphale’s shoulder and nudging him towards the stairs. “I’ll, uh, make sure the Lord’s angels watch over him to keep him safe.”

“Bless you, Father,” one of the villagers said, stepping aside to let them leave. Aziraphale noticed John eyeing them suspiciously, but he didn’t say anything.

Aziraphale and Crowley left the church in silence, walking quickly down the darkened lane. Once they were out of earshot, Crowley let go of Aziraphale’s arm and said in a low, shaky voice, “Satan, was I glad to see you, Aziraphale.”

“You _were,”_ Aziraphale said primly. “You’re lucky it wasn’t some human priest who would have _actually_ doused you in holy water.” He kept his tone light, but he was sure Crowley could tell how much that notion scared him.

“Yeah,” Crowley breathed. He looked down at his hands— Aziraphale’s hands— and then said, “We’ll switch back once we get to yours?”

“Best not to do it out in the open,” Aziraphale agreed. 

Crowley made a muffled noise of consideration, and then said casually, “Don’t know why you wanted to swap, although I suppose it did work.”

Aziraphale sniffed. “I panicked! I wasn’t sure what to do, and anyway, you’ve always been better at… thinking on your feet, in that way.”

“I’m a better liar, you mean,” Crowley said with a wicked grin, and Aziraphale rolled his eyes.

“Yes, you fiend.” He swallowed hard, his voice dropping again even as they neared Aziraphale’s house— there was a light in the window, where he’d left his candles upstairs lit. “I’m glad you’re alright, Crowley.”

Crowley nodded, uncharacteristically sober. “So’m I,” he muttered. “I owe you one, angel. Again.”

“And isn’t that a funny thing?” Aziraphale murmured, and then shook his head before ushering the demon into his home.

* * *

**2019 CE**

Aziraphale and Crowley were silent for the entire bus ride back to Crowley’s flat. Crowley was exhausted, drained from the day’s events, and Aziraphale still seemed a little stunned— although whether it was from the fact that they weren’t dead, the world hadn’t ended, or that he had managed to stand up to Heaven, Crowley wasn’t sure.

When the bus pulled up in front of Crowley’s flat block, he offered Aziraphale a hand. Aziraphale hesitated just a moment and then took it, lacing their fingers together. They got off together, Crowley doing his best (and mostly failing) not to cling too tightly to Aziraphale. Neither of them spoke as they headed up to Crowley’s flat, leaning against each other in the elevator for solace just as much as physical support.

Aziraphale broke the silence as soon as the flat’s door closed behind them. “Crowley,” he said softly. “They’re going to come for us. We… we defied Heaven and Hell. They’re not going to let that go, just because Adam stopped the Apocalypse from happening.”

“I know,” Crowley said grimly. He led Aziraphale further into his flat, neatly sidestepping the puddle-formerly-known-as-Ligur as he went. 

“Ah,” Aziraphale said, nervously eyeing the puddle as he followed Crowley past. “I assume that’s what you were referring to when you said you had an ‘old friend’ over?” 

Crowley jerked his head in a small nod, and waved a hand in the direction of the empty thermos still on his desk. “I put your gift to good use.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale breathed. He rubbed one hand over his mouth and then shook his head, pointedly turning his back on the thermos. “I’ll… I’ll get you some more if I… if I can,” he said hesitantly. _If I don’t Fall,_ Crowley heard.

“What do you think Heaven is going to try?” Crowley asked. As he spoke, he crossed the room and pulled out a decanter of brandy along with two glasses. He set the glasses down on the desk and poured them both a drink, downing his own in one gulp.

“Hellfire, I suspect,” Aziraphale said grimly, picking up his own drink and taking a bracing sip. “Or they’ll make me Fall.”

“It’ll be Holy Water for me,” Crowley said with a sigh. He pulled off his sunglasses and rubbed at his eyes, trying not to look towards where he had melted Ligur. “An eye for an eye, as it were. And suitably… permanent.”

“What are we going to do?” Aziraphale murmured. And then his eyes widened just slightly, and he fumbled for one of his pockets, brandy sloshing in his glass. “Wait, the prophecy!”

“Prophecy?” Crowley said, frowning. 

“One of Agnes Nutter’s,” Aziraphale replied, digging a scrap of paper out of his pocket. He stared down at it with a small frown, and then murmured, “You must choose your faces wisely…”

Crowley poured himself another drink. “You don’t think…” he started hesitantly. When Aziraphale looked up, Crowley could tell that the angel was thinking the exact same thing.

“Choose your faces wisely,” Aziraphale said again. “The only way to _change face_ that might work would be to—”

“To swap,” Crowley finished. 

“ _Would_ it work?” Aziraphale wondered. “We’ve switched before, and we know that my being in your body can negate the effects of walking on consecrated ground, but… Holy Water? Do you really think…?”

Crowley bared his teeth in a snake-like grin. “What choice do we have?” he said. “In all likelihood I’m facing down Holy Water and you’ll get a nice Hellfire shower. To you, Holy Water is harmless, and I find Hellfire rather pleasant. So if we switch…”

“It might just work,” Aziraphale murmured. “And, as you said… What choice do we have? As things are, once they come for us— and they _will,_ that I’m sure of— we don’t stand much of a chance.”

“Regretting it, yet?” Crowley asked a little bitterly, and Aziraphale quickly shook his head. 

“The world is saved, and the apocalypse is averted,” he said softly. “Even if we didn’t end up doing much.” 

Crowley raised an eyebrow. “I think we did plenty,” he said. “Enough to get us in trouble.”

“Should we switch now?” Aziraphale asked, stepping over to set his glass down on Crowley’s desk before offering a hand. 

“Probably,” Crowley replied. He reached out to take Aziraphale’s hand, and then hesitated. “Are we… Aziraphale, should we test it? After we swap? Should we test if Hellfire will destroy me in your body?”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said immediately, “I can’t let you risk yourself—”

“Are we going to test it, or go in entirely blind?” Crowley interrupted, and then closed his eyes and leaned his head back, rubbing at his temple. “Sorry. It’s… been a long day.”

“I know,” Aziraphale said, and he looked in that moment every one of his six thousand years. “It has.” He rubbed at the bridge of his nose, and then added, “Crowley, it’s too risky to test.” 

“I don’t like this any more than you do,” Crowley sighed. “But I’m not sure if we have much of a choice. Whether switching bodies will save us or not, will fool Heaven and Hell or not… there’s probably not much else we can try.” 

Aziraphale frowned. “Let’s switch,” he said after a moment, taking Crowley’s still-outstretched hand. “And then we can figure out what to do.”

Crowley nodded, letting his eyes close as the familiar tingling of a bodyswap spread through his corporation. When he opened his eyes again he was looking at himself, or himself with a very openly nervous and therefore _definitely_ un-Crowley-like expression. “Good,” Aziraphale said with a nod, and then quickly dodged around Crowley and crouched to touch the very edge of the puddle-that-was-Ligur. 

“Angel!” Crowley shouted, jumping forward, but his best friend in disguise wasn’t spontaneously melting or otherwise screaming in agony as he dissolved.

“I think it works,” Aziraphale said unnecessarily, straightening and leaning back on the heels of Crowley’s snakeskin boots. 

Crowley wanted to be angry, even though he knew that if there had been Hellfire available he would have done the exact same thing, but couldn’t really muster the energy. “That’s good,” he said, absently straightening Aziraphale’s bowtie. 

“So we’ll wait for them to come for us,” Aziraphale said with a nod, miracling another pair of Crowley’s sunglasses for himself. “We’ll act as each other, let them come for us, and hopefully scare them into leaving us alone when we don’t die.”

“Sounds like fun!” Crowley said with an angelic grin. “I should probably head to the bookshop, yeah? They’ll probably be waiting, and we don’t want your corporation to be here if Hell comes to my flat.”

Aziraphale frowned, the concern fitting worryingly well in the lines of Crowley’s face, but nodded. “That’s probably best,” he said. 

Crowley nodded sharply, heading for the door of his flat and adjusting his stride automatically to be more like Aziraphale’s. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale called just as he reached the exit. Crowley paused, but didn’t turn back, afraid that if he saw the expression he _knew_ would be on Aziraphale’s face he wouldn’t be able to leave.

“Be careful,” Aziraphale said softly, after a long moment. _I love you,_ he didn’t say, but Crowley heard it anyway.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. You too,” Crowley mumbled in reply before leaving his flat and silently closing the door behind him. _I love you too. I love you too._

* * *

**2023 CE**

Aziraphale didn’t need to sleep, but that didn’t mean he didn’t enjoy curling up in bed with his husband at the end of the day. It was nice, after all, to simply be able to enjoy each other’s company, a welcome change from thousands of years of pretending to be enemies. 

Aziraphale gently ran his fingers through Crowley’s hair as they cuddled, curled up and tangled together under the comforter. Crowley had one arm slung over Aziraphale’s back, fingers tracing constellations even through the fabric of his shirt, and the other pillowing his head, face mostly buried in Aziraphale’s chest. 

“Angel,” Crowley said, his voice muffled and sleepy. 

Aziraphale hummed in acknowledgement, and kept brushing his husband’s hair away from his face. 

“How many eyes d’you have?” Crowley murmured. 

Aziraphale paused. When he shifted back just slightly to see Crowley’s face, he found Crowley gazing at him with half-open golden eyes. “Just the two?” he said hesitantly, and blinked to prove his point. 

Crowley’s eyebrows went up, and he seemed a little more awake. “No, I mean…” he said, and then trailed off, biting his lip. 

Aziraphale, now less distracted by cuddling with the love of his life, found himself able to guess. “You mean in my true form. Outside of my corporation.” 

Crowley hesitated, and then nodded. 

Aziraphale made a noise of consideration, and resumed gently stroking Crowley’s hair. “I have quite a few eyes,” he said finally. “A few more wings than you might expect, as well.”

“It’s kind of funny,” Crowley said cautiously, his voice purposefully light and conversational, “We’ve known each other for thousands of years, and we’ve even swapped corporations, but I don’t think we’ve ever seen each other’s true forms.”

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. Crowley was a lot of things, but subtle was not exactly one of them— despite the reputation of the Serpent of Eden. “That’s true,” he said after a long moment. “I haven’t been in my true form in quite some time. And I don’t believe I’ve ever seen yours.”

“I don’t think so,” Crowley agreed. He raised an eyebrow. “Do you want to?”

Aziraphale paused, thinking that over. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t at least a little curious— Crowley was right, he and Aziraphale had known each other for millennia, and they had never really _Seen_ each other. But at the same time… “My true form,” Aziraphale said quietly. “It’s… I’m not sure if it’s really _me.”_

Crowley cocked his head. “What do you mean, angel?” he asked, reaching out to cup Aziraphale’s face with one hand. 

“I’ve been in this corporation for six thousand years,” he explained. “I’m sure you can imagine that I’m rather attached to it.”

Crowley chuckled. “Yeah, I can imagine,” he replied. “I guess I kind of feel the same way. There’s a little more crossover between my true form and my human corporation—” he deliberately blinked his serpent’s eyes, and flashed a bit of fang before continuing, “But I definitely understand having a more… human self-image.” He hesitated, bit his lip. “Aziraphale,” he said. “You know that… that I care about you in every form. I mean you… you don’t have to show me your true form if you don’t want to, I entirely understand, but it’s… it’s not going to put me off, or anything.”

Aziraphale smiled. Crowley’s love was never something he’d doubted. “Why don’t we try?” he whispered. The dim moonlight shafting through the moonlight and casting shadows on the floor, the softness of the bedsheets against his fingers, the warmth of Crowley close enough to touch, all made him feel a bit braver.

Crowley’s eyes shone in the darkness. “Are you sure?” he said. “I meant it. I understand.”

Aziraphale sighed softly. “I would be lying if I said I wasn’t just a bit curious about your true form,” he said with a chuckle. “And besides, I… I trust you. I believe you. About it not… changing anything.”

The smile Crowley gave him was heartbreakingly adoring. “Let’s try it, then,” he said. “How should we do this?”

“In theory,” Aziraphale said, shuffling up in bed a little, “It shouldn’t be too hard. Much like switching corporations, I expect, only… we don’t entirely switch.”

Crowley mirrored him, and they both sat up in bed, leaning back against the headboard. “Alright,” Crowley said with a crooked grin, offering Aziraphale a hand. “I guess we’ll just feel it out?”

Aziraphale took his hand, lacing their fingers together. “That sounds like as good a plan as any.” 

Aziraphale exhaled and let his eyes close, allowing his angelic nature to feel out Crowley’s demonic one, past the bounds of his human corporation. After a moment his fingertips began to tingle, but instead of letting his Self flow into Crowley’s corporation to switch places, he stretched his metaphorical (and also literal) wings into the next plane of existence. 

It was a bit like taking off a coat that was just a tad too small, that had been pressing against his shoulders and chest for centuries without him even really knowing. That wasn’t to say that Aziraphale’s corporation was _uncomfortable,_ exactly, and it was just as much a part of him as his true form, after so many years. It was only, he didn’t have nearly as much room to fluff his feathers in human form.

Aziraphale felt his sense of the human world fade into the background a bit, and opened his eyes again— his many, many eyes. Around him, a plane of existence not accessible to mortals shimmered in colors indescribable and incomprehensible to the human brain. Aziraphale smiled (as much as an incorporeal, ethereal being of wings and eyes and fire can smile), and allowed his true form to stretch out a little more.

 _Aziraphale,_ he Felt rather than heard, in an achingly familiar hiss. Aziraphale became aware of another presence beside him, around him, above and below and within, and reached out with a sweep of soft energy until his essence touched burning scales.

 _Crowley,_ Aziraphale replied, letting the name ring with every ounce of love in his boundless form. The presence around him shifted, and for the first time in the thousands of years of their acquaintance, Aziraphale could _See_ Crowley.

Crowley’s true form was so _like_ him it made Aziraphale want to shine. He was, as he had implied, rather snakey— a great, huge snake with shimmering iridescent burning shining gleaming scales, eyes like molten gold, wings large and soft and curled around his coils, feathers colored deeper than the furthest black hole and brighter than the closest star. His form was in constant motion, slithering and sliding and curling, steaming with sulfur and glowing softly under his scales like embers left to rest in the bed of a fire, and his fangs flashed and glinted like so many sharpened swords. 

And, with nothing so simple as flesh and bone between them, with their Selves twisted up and twined together, still individuals but closer than they had ever been, Aziraphale could _Feel_ Crowley’s love. He could feel the pulse of it, like a heartbeat, like the crackle of lightning and the rumble of thunder, as steady and gentle as waves on the shore, as bright and explosive as a supernova. Crowley was a Damned creature, Fallen and burned and changed from what he had once been, but his love— _his_ love shone far purer than anything Aziraphale had felt in Heaven in a _very_ long time.

 _Aziraphale,_ Crowley said again, and Aziraphale Felt the brush of scales against feathers. With a happy sigh like a gust of wind, he closed some of his eyes and reached out, letting his own Self coil and wind around Crowley in return. They pressed closer, their Selves entwined, and both sunk into the feeling of Seeing each other so fully.

After an eternity and a moment, Crowley and Aziraphale separated from each other, in mutual agreement as they gently untwined and returned to their own corporations. Aziraphale opened his eyes (only his two, this time) to find that he and Crowley were still holding hands, and Crowley was grinning at him with shining eyes. 

“ _Wow,_ angel,” he breathed. “That was… _wow.”_

Aziraphale beamed back, feeling like some of his true form’s celestial glow had remained in his corporation’s veins. “You’re _gorgeous,_ Crowley,” he said, absently brushing over the back of his husband’s hand with one thumb.

Crowley’s grin managed to widen. “You should see _yourself,_ ” he replied. “Gosh, angel, your eyes are just…” He leaned in, giving Aziraphale a quick kiss on the lips. The contact between them sparked pleasantly, one last remnant of their interactions on a higher plane. 

“Thank you for letting me see you,” Aziraphale said when they parted. “And… thank you for…”

Crowley nodded. “No need to exchange thanks,” he said quietly. “I love you, angel. In any form.”

“I love you too,” Aziraphale replied, cupping Crowley’s face in one hand. “In _every_ form.”

**Author's Note:**

> Again, thanks so so much to the lovely [Ouida](https://https://ouidasart.tumblr.com/), her art is [here](https://ouidasart.tumblr.com/post/624923938604089344/my-illustrations-for-easier-than-air-with-air-if)! It's been a wonderful time working together, please give her beautiful work some love! And thanks ever so to the mods for organizing, I've had a good time :D
> 
> Thanks for reading, I really hope you enjoyed! I'm [here](https://asideofourown.tumblr.com/) if that's something you're into


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